


Shadows And Whispers

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [67]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce gets let in only to get shut out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows And Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 7, 2005
> 
> Kicking the season off is far from easy, especially S7. Once again, I have an appreciation for the writers and the difficulties they faced with this season. But hopefully our efforts will be a bit more focused and satisfying than the show was (sorry, some residual bitterness). But this is not the place to dwell on what was; it is a place to find out what could be. Also, lest I forget, without Savvy this would still be languishing in limbo. Never underestimate the power of a good beta and friend to get you to suck it up and keep on writing.

The girls rarely came to the gallery, mostly afraid that Joyce would put them to work. They only showed up willingly for one of two reasons: they wanted something or something was wrong.

While she hoped for the former when her assistant told her that Buffy was out in the main gallery, her gut feeling toward the later was confirmed when she saw her daughter distractedly studying a display of Hopi vases. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“What, I can’t stop by and see my mother at work?” She turned, flashing a pale attempt at a smile.

“Buffy.”

She looked away, one of the vases seeming to capture her intense interest. Finally, “New school, same story.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Dawn had a first day of high school Sunnydale style, complete with zombie ghosts,” Buffy sighed. Then with an apologetic look to Joyce, “You probably would still rather be kept in the dark about that sort of thing, huh?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a gang on PCP?” Joyce joked lamely in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I think that explanation saw its last use when Snyder got eaten,” her daughter forced a laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “And Snyder would have rolled over in his grave today, if he had one.”

“Why’s that?”

“Believe it or not, you’re looking at the new Sunnydale High School guidance counselor.”

She was hard pressed not to laugh. “Seriously?”

Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, me with the real job. The new principal seemed impressed by how well I got on with Dawn and some of the other kids. He seems to think I’m some kind of role model or something.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Buffy,” Joyce chastised, resting an encouraging hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “All you do, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“In the ‘real’ world, saving the world doesn’t really register on the radar,” her daughter stated simply as she carefully stepped away from the touch. “But it gets me out of the house, right? And I can keep Dawn out of trouble.”

“You have a lot to learn,” Joyce said wistfully. “Something else happened, didn’t it? Not that zombie ghosts aren’t enough.”

Buffy started to say something, then stopped. She took a deep breath and let it out. “There weren’t just zombie ghosts in the basement.” She paused. “Spike’s back.”

Joyce wasn’t quite sure what to say. Spike was back. Spike who had disappeared with no explanation or good-bye, except to Clem, leaving Buffy to wonder what she had done wrong and the rest of them at a complete loss. He had become such a part of the group, that for him to up and leave like he had . . . And now he was back. No wonder Buffy was distracted. It had seemed she was just starting to get over his leaving, so for him to return like this couldn’t help matters.

Fortunately, Buffy continued speaking haltingly. “I was trying to find Dawn, opened a door, and there he was. He left without saying anything. But he was there.”

“He was in the basement? Of the school?” The questions were redundant, but she needed to say something in response. Nothing like restating the obvious.

“I think he’s living there,” Buffy said uncertainly. Then she looked at Joyce, the fear evident in her eyes. “And he’s . . . I think something bad happened to him. Something that made him not himself. When he talked, he seemed distracted. Didn’t make sense.”

“Did he say where he went?”

Her daughter shook her head. “He didn’t really say much of anything. He reminded me of Drusilla the way he spoke, all dreamlike and disjointed. But even she made sense some of the time. He doesn’t even sound like himself. It scares me, Mom,” she finished quietly, sounding and looking very scared.

Joyce tried to process this, then reached a decision. “Would you be willing to take me to see him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if he’s . . . if . . .”

“If he’s safe to be around?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, shifting uncomfortably.

“I still think I’d like to go,” Joyce stated firmly. If it upset Buffy this much, so much that she was willing to confide in her about it, maybe she shouldn’t go. She doubted there was anything she could do, but she needed to see for herself. Maybe things weren’t as bad as Buffy thought, but if they were . . . Right now it seemed like Buffy needed all the support she could get. And wasn’t that what were mothers for?

 

 

The basement was shrouded in a heavy darkness. A cold darkness. It felt off. Or it might just be her nerves. Joyce made sure to stay close to Buffy as they made their way through the winding tunnels. You could get lost down here if you weren’t careful. Which was ridiculous. It was a high school basement, not a labyrinth. And yet it seemed much more the latter than the former.

“Damn it,” Buffy swore, waving her flashlight first left, then right. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that—ok, so I do know better.”

“Buffy, what’s going on?” To Joyce the blank, grey, stone walls looked like more blank, grey, stone walls.

“The walls keep rearranging themselves.”

Joyce reached out and touched one of the walls. They seemed solid enough.

“We should have reached him by now,” the girl muttered. “But all we’re doing is going in circles.”

Joyce’s unease increased. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

Buffy shook her head. “No, we’ve come this far. And I . . . I need to know I didn’t imagine him.”

Putting a reassuring hand on her daughter’s shoulder, she encouraged her. “Ok, then, how about we go left this time?”

The flashlight swing back and forth once again. “Why not?”

They set off once again, walking in the near darkness until Joyce could just make out a faint light up ahead. And coming from that direction was a voice, arguing with itself.

“No, no, no. We mustn’t do that. Not ever.” It sounded like Spike, but the tones were more rounded, more formal. “Can’t go back up. Too bright. If we do, they’ll see.”

The words became unintelligible after that.

They had almost reached the room when Joyce realized she was alone. Looking back, she could barely make out Buffy, frozen in the darkness.

“I don’t think I can see him like that again, Mom,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

If Buffy was this upset, what was Joyce doing there? Right, being a good mother, lending support. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself for what lay ahead, Joyce entered the dimly lit room.

The man standing the in the middle of the room little resembled the one she had come to know over the years. She had seen glimpses of this softer, more proper side of Spike from time to time, under the confidence and snark. And he looked so soft. But it wasn’t the hair, grown to a natural-colored, disheveled mass. Or the clothes, ill-fitting, dirty and torn. Taken together, the overall effect shook her. He had lost that ageless quality. He looked older and yet incredibly young at the same time. And there was a haunted, lost quality that hung about him so heavily Joyce could physically feel it.

She was startled when his head snapped up and his dull eyes fixated piercingly on her. He marched purposefully over and grabbed her arm.

“This is no place for ladies to come. Too many dangers lay in wait behind the shadows,” he lectured her.

“But I wanted to come here,” she replied automatically. “I wanted to visit you, Spike.”

He gave a start at his name, blinking as he shook his head. She saw what could have passed for clarity that briefly faded. “No one comes to visit us here. Just figments and dreams. It is just us and the shadows. No one else is real.”

“If I wasn’t real, you couldn’t hold me here, could you?” she said calmly.

Spike let her go, backing away quickly. “Joyce, you shouldn’t be here. You have to leave. Now, before it sees you,” he emphasized.

She took a step forward, but his eyes grew wide in alarm.

“It’s not safe, Joyce. Not for you. Not for Buffy,” he nearly shouted. “You have to go far away.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” she asked.

He started to shake then. “Someone has to stay behind. Make sure it doesn’t get out,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“We can help, Spike. If you let us, we can—”

“Get out before it’s too late!” he screamed. And in the blink of an eye, he was calm once more. “I shall ask you once more to leave.”

“Spike, please,” she pleaded.

“If you do not leave now, madam, I shall be forced to summon the authorities.”

That said, he turned his back on her and seemed to ignore her presence completely.

Dumbfounded, she would have stood there forever if Buffy hadn’t come up behind her and forcefully pull her back into the tunnel, dragging her quickly away from the room. She didn’t release Joyce until they were outside in the bright sun, walking away from the school.

“Something’s not right,” Buffy said, glancing back at the school only briefly as they made their way to the car.

Joyce’s steps faltered as the shock and inertia wore off. “We can’t just leave him there.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Buffy stopped and turned on her. “He doesn’t want to leave. And maybe that’s good for right now. For him to stay in one place. Plus, with the job now, I can keep an eye on him.” The shock and uncertainty were gone; in their place was a calm acceptance and sense of duty, like a general planning for battle.

“When you couldn’t even look at him again?” Joyce exclaimed.

“I just need some time to adjust,” Buffy said, seeming to brush the concern aside without a second thought.

“He might hurt himself, Buffy! And I don’t like that basement.”

“Would you rather he was out on the streets?” Buffy asked, her voice heavy with frustration.

“I think he’s only a danger to himself right now. It’s not right to just leave him there,” Joyce shook her head. “I know he hurt you, leaving without a word last spring. But this is no way to pay him back.”

Buffy’s mouth fell agape. “Excuse me? You think I’m leaving him there out of petty revenge?”

Joyce sighed. She hadn’t meant it to come out quite like that. “No, not intentionally. But I think you’re doing it because it’s safer for you, not for Sunnydale,” she said pointedly, not bothering to temper the note of motherly lecture in her tone.

Turning on her heel, Buffy began to march away, leaving Joyce to jog after. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she said in frustration.

“And kept it to yourself? Buffy, hold on.” Joyce reached for Buffy, pulling her back. “You aren’t the only one who cares about Spike.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Joyce, her mouth in a firm line. “But I was the one who drove him away. What ever has happened to him is my fault, and I’ll deal with it. Alone.”

“So I’m supposed to forget all of this? Pretend that I don’t know he’s back? And a complete mess?”

Her daughter nodded. “You can’t tell anyone. Especially not Giles. He has enough to worry about with Willow right now.”

“Buffy, he might be able to help,” Joyce pleaded.

“Not a word,” Buffy said with finality, storming off.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t wait up for me,” was the only reply.

Joyce watched Buffy’s retreating back, wondering why she thought distance was the best way to deal with fear. Eventually, her daughter faced up to things, but until she did, she ran or avoided the issue as much as was possible.

The school loomed ominously behind her. For now, Joyce would respect Buffy’s wishes. But that basement. The short while she had been down there was enough to leave Joyce with a sick feeling. She didn’t think it could be helping Spike to live down there. And how long had he been down there? Days? Weeks? Months? She shivered at the thought. If Buffy didn’t do something soon, then she would interfere. She could hold back, for a little while. It really wasn’t her place to interfere. Or was it? This wasn’t a lover’s spat or falling out, there was more going on here. Maybe Ethan would know wh—no Ethan. She had promised Buffy she’d keep quiet on this, but . . .

Sighing, Joyce got into her car, knowing only one thing for certain. That she would be very glad when Dawn graduated from this place. The old high school hadn’t felt this sinister, when Buffy had attended.


End file.
